Pranzo di domenica

Ciao di nuovo,

I never would have thought that I would become a compulsive blogger, but what happened this afternoon is just too wonderful, proprio bello. Today I really experienced Italian hospitality. I was working on lesson plans when the doorbell rang again. When I peeped through the spyglass, I saw a young men whom I did not recognize, so I didn't open the door. I returned to my desk, but the bell kept ringing, this time with more insistence, and I meanwhile I heard the voices of the signora. When I finally opened the door, there was the signora, who was very worried on account of my delay, and the same young man, who turned out to be her grandson. She insisted on giving me stuffed mushrooms and a piece of chocolate cake, which I accepted with very little persuasion. At first I refused her offer of pasta, but she was so kind and so persistent that I accepted, but offered to come pick it up from her house. To make a long story short, I ended up in the middle of an Italian Sunday lunch.

There was the signora, her husband, and their daughter, who was accompanied by her husband, and of course, their son. A merrier, more animated group I have never found myself with. I don't think that a single sentence was spoken throughout; they sang or intoned, but never did anything so mundane as spoke. I was hard put to concentrate on either the food or the conversation. (Wise were the words of the grandfather, who admonished the others when they asked me questions: Chi mangia non parla/either talke or eat, but don't do both.)The signora had made the pasta by hand, along with the sauce, the vitello and sausiccio, and the mushrooms. Her daughter had made the cake, which was lined with nutella and the lightest cake that I have ever eaten.

It was wonderful to find myself in the middle of a family again, three thousand miles away from my own family. And now for Jane Austen!